"Janet Harding Miss Washington 2008" said the sign, greeting us on our arrival into Yelm. I doubted she lived there anymore. Probably off finishing her PhD or promoting world peace. But certain she’d left.
Giles and I had reached there at dusk, sixty or so miles south of West Seattle. Following the route of the annual Seattle to Portland cycle ride – the "STP". Progress had been slow at first, picking our way out of the suburbs. Picking up later as we’d hit the West Valley Highway.
The occasional glimpse en route of Mount Rainier, over fourteen thousand feet of active volcano. Our headmark south. Frequent signs informing you of the evacuation route in case of eruption.
We’d a smart motel room for the night. I’d suggested we look out for well-kept hanging baskets, a pretty reliable indicator that the place was loved. It’d be decent. But in Yelm there wasn’t any choice, or at least we didn’t find any. A few pot plants outside.
